I was in the seventh grade, sitting in art class.  We sat at tables instead of desks, four to each station.  And with my head down, I doodled on my art project, trying to eaves-drop on the conversation happening around me.

See, my older, High School-aged brother had visited my Middle School that morning for reasons I can’t recall– some sort of project with a history class– and his visit was a topic of conversation at my art table.  For a reason I’ll never understand, one of the young ladies sitting beside me- a blonde-haired cheerleader type–felt it necessary to inform me that my brother was super-hot, and that “You’re not nearly as cool as your brother is.”

I’m pretty sure I said nothing in reply. . . I know what I wanted to say. . . I had all kinds of cleverly crafted, smart, funny, witty, condescending, cutting remarks about where she could stick her art stencils, exactly 2 hours AFTER our conversation.  Of course, at the time, nothing clever came to mind.  I went catatonic.  I felt nothing except the sharp pain of inadequacy.

Of course it wasn’t the first or last time I felt a bit of insecurity concerning my relationship with my brother.  I grew up sort of feeling like the lesser sibling- like his less interesting “mini-me.”  But it’s one of those feelings you just wonder to yourself late at night, and then hope isn’t true when you wake up in the morning.  And then it happens. . . That traumatizing moment when your deepest fears and insecurities about yourself are confirmed by a glancing word from a third-party witness.

That’s the power of words.  Words wound and cut people deeply in ways that can last for years and years and years.  I think I’m blessed to have overcome many of the insecurities I used to feel related to my brother.  But I’d be willing to bet that every single person can remember at least one careless or tactless thing that was said to them at one point in their life that left a deep and painful scar.

I think Saul carried some of those scars.  We’ve talked about Saul’s unusual journey to the throne.  He was chosen by God from the least likely family, clan and tribe, but God chose him.  And God changed him and gave him the tools he needed to be an effective king.  But Saul has never shown any confidence in his ability to rule Israel.  When Samuel wanted to present him to the Hebrews, Saul hid among the supplies.  Something deep inside Saul had convinced him that he was unable to succeed as the ruler of God’s people.

But God believed he was king, and Samuel believed Saul was king, and the people believed Saul was king.  1 Samuel 10:23 reads:

They ran and brought him out, and as he stood among the people he was a head taller than any of the others. Samuel said to all the people, ‘Do you see the man the LORD has chosen? There is no one like him among all the people.’  Then the people shouted, ‘Long live the king!'”

God was in his corner!

Samuel was in his corner.

Even the people were saying, “Long live the King!”

How could Saul not puff out his chest alittle and think to himself, “You know . . . maybe they’re right.  Maybe I am good enough to lead this country.”  But something happened on his way back home.  At a time of celebration, some careless words were shared by some careless people.  And those words, I believe, had some big consequences.  Vv. 26 and 27 say,

Saul also went to his home in Gibeah, accompanied by valiant men whose hearts God had touched. But some scoundrels said, ‘How can this fellow save us?”  They despised him and brought him no gifts.

Now this was a huge opportunity for Saul. EVERYBODY faces opposition at one time or another!  Everyone has to stand up for themselves from time to time!  Especially if you’re in leadership.  If Saul was confident enough in his ability to lead, he could’ve addressed his opponents, dealt with them in the appropriate way, and then simply moved on with the rest of his life.  But that doesn’t happen for Saul.  This is how v. 27 finishes:

BUT SAUL KEPT SILENT.

Ominous words.

Saul wasn’t just taking the high road or showing humble restraint.  A true king would’ve done something.  He would’ve gone Old Testament on those guys.  But Saul did nothing.  Saul kept silent, and I think the reason was, deep down he believed those scoundrels were probably right.

I’m not a king!

I don’t deserve the honor I’m getting from all these people!

These careless and tactless “scoundrels” had just confirmed every nagging, whispering voice in Saul’s mind– those embedded insecurities that he wasn’t good enough to be king.  Now, those words didn’t sink him immediately, but I think they wounded him, and they set the stage for the spiraling tail-spin Saul would enter later in life.

And that’s the power of words.  Words endure.  Words hurt.  Proverbs 18:21 says

The power of life and death are in the tongue.

People have died as a result of poorly used words.

Now, not every critical word is lethal.  We don’t take every joke or insult to heart, do we?

No.  It’s just a few subjects that really eat at you.  You probably have just a couple of buttons that are connected to something deep inside of you.  And when those buttons get pushed, it stings in a very particular way.  Could be about your looks, your height, your family, your finances, your sexual prowess, your intelligence. . .  Everytime someone hits that button, whichever button it is for you, it feels like someone just knocked the wind out of you.  And you remember.

It’s like you have an internal cataloging system in your brain detailing those precise moments, and you can instantaneously recall the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you contemplate what it would mean if such horrible things were actually true.  A word spoken by a tactless, seventh-grade cheerleader can sit like a ticking time bomb in my brain and explode 2, 5, even 15 years later.

BOOM!

Those words get lodged into our psyches and they become part of us, because they play on our deepest fears and insecurities.

And we replay those memories over and over, and think of all the things we should have said in response . . .

But instead . . . we kept silent. . . ’cause we’re petrified those words might actually be true.